


It's Alright Now

by badlifechoices



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, influenced by utrh and the comics, obviously, post arkham knight, spoilers for the end of the video game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4314225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badlifechoices/pseuds/badlifechoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re still scarred, they’re still insane in their very own ways and they’re still so far from alright that it’s almost ridiculous. They can never have a happy ending but maybe they can have something else. | After Bruce has left Gotham he finds Jason again, or rather Jason finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Alright Now

“I’m not scared of you Crane.” And it’s the truth, he’s not lying this time, not putting on a mask anymore. In this moment he’s not Batman, he’s Bruce Wayne again, the real Bruce Wayne and not the one Gotham’s wealthy and powerful know. And it probably really is partly because he has managed to defeat the Joker, cast him out of his brain or at least banished him to the darkest corners of his conscious. But it’s also because he knows he’s not alone. He knows there’s a pair of eyes tracking his every movement and they’re waiting for the moment to strike out of the shadows.

He doesn’t even blink when the gun is pressed to his forehead, doesn’t look away from the mask that isn’t even hiding how _afraid_ his enemy truly is. The bullet whizzes through the air. Bruce can feel it before he can hear it. The gun clatters to the ground. The next two shots free him from his shackles and he’s back on his feet before anyone in the room could even understand what is going on.

Out of the corner of his eye Bruce can see him, sniper rifle in one hand, ready to jump into action.

They take down Crane, untie Tim and do their best to stop the blood oozing from the wound. And by the time he turns around again Jason is gone. For a little moment he almost smiles. _So this is what it’s like to be on the other end of that trick._ But he really knew that Jason wouldn’t be there anymore.

It’s over. The city is safe. The people know who the Batman is. There’s only one thing left to do for him now.

If he’s honest he actually considers asking Jason to replace him but he discards the thought quickly enough. It wouldn’t work. Jason has always been more Batman than Robin when he was still a kid: young, arrogant, brash and brutal. But now he’s something else and Bruce has yet to figure out what it is.

Bruce ignores the reporters waiting in front of the Wayne Manor’s gate like a swarm of crows, not sparing a glance for the media he’s pleased with his playboy image for so many years. Despite his determination to go through with this there’s an ache in his heart even the knowledge that this is indeed the best way, can’t soothe. This is where he grew up, where he spent most of his life. Where he first donned the cape and cowl. The house he’s shared with only those closest to him, Alfred, Dick, Tim and Jason. It’s a childish sentiment but he doesn’t want to see it burn to the ground.

The explosion shakes the ground and even in the safety of the Batcave he can feel the tremors under his feet. Something is amiss. Of course he didn’t expect Jason to be here but maybe some part of him _wished_ that he was. He doesn’t look at the glass case, the outfit that is an exact replica of Jason’s Robin uniform. He never got the chance to recover the original one. Just like he never had a body to bury, no way to lay his _son_ to rest. Now he knows he should’ve never stopped searching but it’s too late.

“What are we gonna do now?” He asks aloud. He’s not talking to himself or Alfred. He’s talking to that maybe in the shadows because this little part of him still hopes that Jason is there somewhere, listening, waiting.

The silence that answers him is deafening. Bruce knows he can’t stay here. Not in Gotham city. The Batman is dead and so is Bruce Wayne. Gotham is no longer his turf. He has to leave, go somewhere else and find a new purpose. There is enough to do in the world, he thinks, there are other places that need a Dark Knight of their own.

He lingers for another moment, stays just long enough to examine his own reflection in the polished glass. He’s worn out, tired. There’s still a bullet lodged somewhere in his stomach and he doubts his body will obey his commands much longer if he doesn’t sleep.

 

When he goes he leaves everything behind. Sure, he has the suit, the plane and all the equipment he will need to start again somewhere else but he leaves behind everything else. There is a note for Dick, asking him to look out for Tim as best as he can. With Lucius in charge the company is in good hands. And there’s still Alfred who will have an eye on things. It all will function without him.

Maybe it’s too easy. But symbols are easily replaced. In the darkness he drives and he doesn’t look back.

 

 

Jason finds him in Moscow three months later. Bruce has been waiting for him to show up, caught between uncertainty if he would and hope that he will. The boy looks better than he did when they last met: less pale, less sickish but still restless. He’s standing in the door, hands pushed into his pockets, not quite stepping into the room like he isn’t sure if he wants to stay or turn around and leave. He doesn’t look at Bruce, eyes flickering between the screens and unpacked boxes. He doesn’t speak either, as though the words he wants to say are too heavy for his tongue. Or maybe he doesn’t even have any words he wants to say.

“Jason.” The boy tenses and for a moment Bruce thinks he’s going to run now. But he doesn’t. He looks up and his eyes are blue ice. Shoulders squared and jaw set he steps forward. The door falls shut behind him.

Neither of them says another word when they meet in the blue light of the flickering screens. When their mouths clash like this is all they need, all they have been waiting for. And maybe they have, maybe they have waited for this so long and now they can’t stop. They kiss until their lips are swollen, bruised even. The coppery taste of blood heavy on their tongues. It’s not tender, Jason will claim afterwards, there is no love in their touches just need. They both _need_ each other like they always did. They understand each other, they’re both broken in ways no one could understand but the other even though they can neither heal nor forgive.

There’s no finesse in their movements, when they tear off every unnecessary piece of fabric. No grace when Jason sinks to his knees, Bruce’s hands in his hair as he wraps his lips around the head of his cock. There are no encouragements, no whispered words. The silence is filled with erratic breathing and quiet moans, sounds of pleasure falling from reddened lips.

Jason lets Bruce fuck his face, doesn’t pull back until his jaw is aching and there are tears in the corners of his eyes. Bruce pulls him up, kisses him and tastes himself on his lips. He pushes the boy against the wall and it’s all so familiar but at the same time it isn’t. They’ve done this before but a lifetime ago and now it’s different. When he runs his fingers over the other’s heated skin there are scars he doesn’t know, reminders of torture, of immeasurable pain.

Bruce pushes his fingers into Jason’s mouth and the boy swirls his tongue around them, sucks them like he did his cock just now. His eyes are closed, fingers digging into Bruce’s shoulder blades as the older man’s hands roam his body, stroking, trailing their way down until he can grasp Jason’s prick in his hand. Bruce wants to tell him to open his eyes, wants to see them but he doesn’t. He leans in to kiss down his neck, leaving bites and bruises in his wake and he drinks in the desperate whimpers and muffled groans he earns. He steadies the boy with his own body as he pushes him up the wall, holds him there while the other wraps his legs around him.

Jason bites his shoulder when Bruce pushes the first finger in, mirroring the marks the older man has left on his own, pale skin. Bruce adds a second and third finger, impatience pulling at him because the boy’s breath is hot on his neck and his little moans are teasing him, urging him on.

"Jason." The word weighs heavy on his tongue, when the boy leans forward to bring his lips up to his ear. “Come on, old man.” It’s not the Arkham Knight’s voice, not the voice of the man who has left Gotham in ruins, full of hurt and resentment. This is Jason, _his_ _Jason_ and suddenly it doesn’t feel like they’re strangers anymore.

He brings their mouths together once more, biting down on Jason’s bottom lip as he pulls his hand away. Bruce gives him no time to catch his breath before he pushes in, swallowing the other’s gasp. He doesn’t wait before he moves, Jason’s fingernails leave angry red marks on his back as he fucks him into the wall with sharp, brutal thrusts.

There’s no holding back now. It’s as though everything he’s bottled up, every ounce of desperate need and want, longing and loneliness, grief and anger it’s all pouring out of him now.

They don’t last long. Soon Jason is trembling in his arms, arching into his touches and all it takes is a firm hand wrapped around his cock, squeezing, for him to come apart. The choked scream falling of his lips, the whimpered ‘Bruce’ against his throat is enough to push the older man over the edge. His fingers dig into Jason’s hips, hard enough to bruise as he quickens his pace, burying himself deep inside this pliant body with a few last thrusts.

Their heavy breathing is the only sound filling the silence now. If Bruce feels the wetness on Jason’s cheeks he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t want the other to leave, not now that he has finally found him again.

He’s gone in the morning.

 

 

_I expected more… I’m hurt._

 

“I still hate you.” He’s propped up on his elbows, sucking greedily on the cigarette he’s holding between his fingers. But he doesn’t move to push away the hand that is still resting on the small of his back. He doesn’t move away when Bruce leans in to kiss him and his lips taste like cigarette smoke and lies.

“I wish you wouldn’t smoke.” And Bruce really tries to give him that disapproving look he used on him when he was still young and just as stubborn.

Jason shrugs, unimpressed. “Fuck you.”

Bruce raises one eyebrow. “I thought we’d done that already.”

“Yeah, well maybe I want to do it again.”

The cigarette ends up on the floor, burning a hole into the worn out hotel carpet.

 

 

_This is the best day of my life!_

 

Four weeks later Jason takes a bullet for him.

Mexico has never been kind to him, maybe it’s just coincidence but this time the trouble finds him unprepared. He didn’t even know Jason was here, hasn’t seen him since he left that night but maybe Jason is always around because he is so used to following Bruce’s every step.

It’s like in the movies but at the same time it’s not: They say when you hear the bullet it’s already too late. Bruce doesn’t hear it. He hears someone shouting, sees a flash of black out of the corner of his eye and it’s all happening too quickly even for the _Batman._

He’s not scared of death, truly sometimes he feels like he left all of his fears behind in Akham. But now his mind is spinning and he feels ice cold dread running through his veins. It’s déjà vu all over again, the most beautiful flower of red blooming on Jason's chest, like it’s mocking the bat the boy has drawn on it.

Bruce’s body is moving before his mind has caught up with what is happening. He’s hoisting the younger male up in his arms, carrying him to safety. He ignores the way Jason tenses, almost struggling for a moment before his hands come up to grasp at the older man’s arms. In his head the thoughts are racing, the voice of his conscious is screaming at him. He’s failed again, failed _him_ again.

His hands are shaking when he removes the bullet. Every pained scream falling from Jason’s lips burrows itself into his chest and Bruce forgets how to breathe when the boy suddenly stops moving. „Stay with me, Jason. Come on.“ He pleads. He can’t do this again. _At least this time you’ll have a body to bury._ A cruel voice at the back of his head whispers. _This time you can give him a headstone that says ‘Batman’s greatest failure’._

He grits his teeth, tries not to listen and keeps pressure on the wound. The blood is soaking his clothes and he thinks that maybe if he’d died in Gotham Jason could’ve been alive and _happy._

 

 

How he manages to get him to a hospital, Bruce doesn’t remember afterwards. Jason’s heart stops three times that night and when his condition is finally stable Bruce feels like he can finally breathe again. Maybe he hasn’t failed him after all.

 

 

Jason drifts in and out of consciousness for days. Bruce only leaves his room when the nurse threatens to call security. Suddenly he feels utterly useless, can’t do anything but leave his lover in the hands of the doctors. With nothing else to do he hunts down the shooter and drops him from a low rooftop. It feels good to hurt the one who has almost taken what is _his_.

Bruce leaves him alive but not until he has made sure that he won’t ever hold a rifle in his hands again…

Jason is awake when he returns to the hospital. Propped up on the pillows he looks like a ghost, pale with dark bruises around his eyes. The hospital gown does nothing to hide that his body is still shaking with every breath he takes. When he sees Bruce he cracks a smile. It’s supposed to look cocky but Bruce can’t help but wince at how broken it looks instead.

“Why did you do it?” He asks.

Jason shrugs with one shoulder. _He’s not sure himself._ Twisting his face into a grimace, he takes a moment to answer. The painkillers are still coursing through his system, Bruce suspects that he’s high as a kite despite the serious line of his lips.

“I hate you, remember. If anyone’s gonna kill you it’s me.” The boy looks proud that he has found a suitable answer. When Bruce sits down next to him and takes his hand, he doesn’t move, doesn’t try to pull away. Ice blue eyes widen for a little moment and then the smile is back on those pale lips.

 

 

Bruce isn’t surprised when he gets to the hospital one day and Jason isn’t there. He leaves Mexico the same night.

 

 

He gets to taste the new scar a month later. They’re in Sarajevo of all places, where they took down a ring of drug dealers, _together._ The motel bed is creaking as he moves to kiss Jason’s chest, taking his time to catalogue all those new bruises and superficial cuts. It looks almost harmless, the reminder of that bullet that almost pierced Jason’s heart and it tastes like salt and regret. He feels Jason still underneath him and when he looks up there’s a strange glint in his eyes.

It’s gone before Bruce can even be sure it wasn’t the reflection of the flickering light bulb dangling from the ceiling. His lips continue on their path, taking their time to taste every inch of skin. They’ve always been in a hurry, never had the mind to be tender. There’s always been something else in their touches, desperation, anger, _lies_. But this time Jason doesn’t complain about his teasing until he’s writhing underneath him, hands gripping the sheets tightly and mouth hanging open.

 _“Bruce.”_ It’s as close to begging as he’ll get and Bruce finally directs his attention to Jason’s sex. The boy looks beautiful like this. In the pale artificial light his skin is glistening with sweat, his lips bruised from their kisses and his eyes glassy with desire.

He’s even more beautiful when he rides Bruce’s cock later that night and between the moans of pleasure and the ‘fuck, Bruce, so good… yes… harder…’ Bruce comes so hard he thinks he can see stars.

 

 

Bruce is used to waking up alone these days. He’s used to the bed feeling cold and empty most of the time and he tries not to think too much about what it means that he doesn’t even have the desire to find someone else who isn’t Jason to warm it for him.

This time he doesn’t wake up alone.

A mop of curly, black hair tucked under his chin he finds that it’s almost too hot with the boy wrapped around him like a second blanket. He considers getting up for a shower but quickly decides against it. He’s sure Jason isn’t asleep anymore, knows that the breathing is a bit too regular but he doesn’t mind. If the other is willing to grant him this rare moment of intimacy he would be a fool to ruin it.

Jason stays for breakfast.

 

 

“What are we gonna do now?”

Jason still disappears for days on end but never for more than two or three weeks. He doesn’t leave in the middle of the night, doesn't come back smelling of blood and gunpowder and Bruce rarely sees that haunted, confused look in his eyes anymore. They’re still scarred, they’re still insane in their very own ways and they’re still so far from alright that it’s almost ridiculous. But somehow they have worked it out.

Jason looks up from his coffee mug. He still has the Joker’s brand on his cheek. It is a constant reminder that Jason is nothing like the young, cheerful boy he once was but Bruce loves him just as much. Maybe even more because this Jason is more than a figment of his imagination, more than a ghost. This one is real and here and he can just reach out and kiss him whenever he wants.

“Dunno.” Jason shrugs. “You ever been to Hawaii?”

The older man raises an eyebrow. “People go to Hawaii for their honeymoon, Jay.”

“I get it, old man. It’s always gotta be dark and ugly places for you.”

Bruce chuckles, taking the coffee mug from the other’s hand and placing it on the table before drawing him in for a kiss. Jason protests half-heartedly, muttering something about sentimental old men but he leans in quickly enough.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to Hawaii.”

Jason grins.


End file.
